


A Chemical Reaction.

by audreyneedsacase



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Teenlock, johnlockchallenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyneedsacase/pseuds/audreyneedsacase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John takes a walk to think about a chemical reaction called love.</p><p>[My gift to onedreamaday1 for johnlockchallenges' gift exchange]</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chemical Reaction.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift to onedreamaday1 for johnlockchallenges' Valentine's Day Exchange! They asked for a teenlock first kiss fluffy story - I hope I did the prompt justice!

John returned to their dormitory room at precisely 4.37 pm that day, but Sherlock thought nothing of it. It was a merely ten minutes later than John usually came back from football practise, and frankly Sherlock had better things to think about. It was only when Sherlock looked up to see John did he become uneasy.

John had his training kit thrown over his shoulder and his hair was in disarray, as was his custom appearance at this time. However, he wasn't stained and sweaty as he usually was after football.

"No practise today?" Sherlock deduced.

John simply shook his head, not making eye contact with Sherlock. "Got cancelled," he replied, his voice strange.

Sherlock went back to looking in his microscope, trying to push back the irrational feelings of... what, concern? The silence was awkward, though, which wasn't conducive to his experiment. He eventually asked, "What did you do instead?"

His roommate set down his kit and lied down on his neat bed (he always made the bed, every morning without fail), facing the ceiling. "You can't tell? I took a walk - I needed to think."

Of course he could tell, but that didn't answer the true question, the motive, the _why_. Sherlock scoffed. "You're perfectly able to think without the stimulus of physical activity, aren't you John?"

But he didn't hear laughter from his friend like expected. Instead, John was silent.

Sherlock shrugged it off. He shouldn't have cared anyway - what John did was none of his business. The sample of _Pheosia gnoma_ had already started its dissolving in the oxalic acid and he watched the intricacy of it under the lens of his microscope. Unbidden, he asked absently, "What required you to think so hard that you needed to go on a dreadfully boring walk at the same time?"

John mumbled an answer, or perhaps Sherlock just wasn't listening. Either way, Sherlock hadn't heard so he said, "What?"

"I said," John repeated. "I was thinking about you."

This was cause enough for Sherlock to momentarily be distracted from his experiment. He blinked - once, twice. Not looking up (he didn't want to see the expression on John's face right now - he had had this happen before, the inevitable _I can't do this anymore, you're a freak_ speech) he said, "What about me?" His voice came out more strangled than he had intended.

"I'm glad we're friends," Sherlock heard John say from the other side of the room.

It was starting - that's how it _always_ started, before the predictable contrasting statement saying why they didn't feel that way anymore. Hesitantly, he replied, "I'm glad we're friends, as well."

John sighed. This was hard for him, like it was hard for Sherlock. "I've never had a friend like you," he admitted.

Sherlock could agree with this. He had never had a friend he was so in sync with, so willing to spend time with and care about.

A friend that he was in _love_ with.

He had realised this a while ago. He wasn't so emotionally stunted so as to not see the signs, after all. He was in love with John, but he could do nothing about it. It was fact, set in stone. The evidence was there: John was straight, John didn't even like him like _that_ , John wouldn't ever like him that. And Sherlock had accepted it. He pushed that unwanted feeling like he did the others, hidden away in a remote location in his mind palace to never be considered again.

(A small part of him hated the fact that his love, his _first_ would go unnoticed and unreciprocated, but there was nothing to be done).

After all, it was merely a chemical reaction: His reptilian brain misinterpreted the closeness of their friendship as _more_ \- it was nothing to be alarmed about, nothing to bring up. Nothing to worry about, nothing to obsess over.

"Neither have I," he finally replied.

They were silent, but John's presence was still heavy and loud in Sherlock's thoughts, so loud that he couldn't focus on his experiment.

"Just come out with it," he snapped exasperatedly.

John laughed at this. "Appropriate choice of words," he replied cryptically, but said nothing more.

Sherlock was being thrown for a loop; he didn't like not _knowing_ things, and it was leaving him frustrated. Sighing, he pushed away his experiment and moved to stand next to John's bed. "I've no time for your inane games, John, so just _tell_ me."

The standard-issue fluorescent was doing John no favours - it made his face like oddly thin and menacing (like Sherlock's, his mind supplied). John had a strange smile on his face, and the combined effect made him look somewhat predatory and dangerous. Of course, those things did not truly describe the kind, warm boy. The dichotomy set Sherlock on edge.

John sat up then on the bed, and patted the spot next to him. Sherlock sat, hesitant and wary.

John took a deep breath. "I... don't know how. How to say this, that is. It's not... Christ, it's not bad, I mean, it's just..."

" _Please_ , just say it, John."

"It's difficult to say, and I don't know the words, and--"

"SAY IT."

And Sherlock's protest was cut off with John leaning forward, and their lips mashing together like magnets. John's lips were rough and dry, but persistent. Sherlock was still as he processed what was happening, then kissed back with a fervor that sent chills up and down both of their spines.

(Sherlock didn't know much about the solar system, but he could swear he saw stars at that moment.)

When they broke, they were breathing hard and their eyes were wide. Sherlock's hand was on John's arm and it felt electric.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed.

"Oh," John agreed.

"So this is what you were thinking about, then?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I... I like you, Sherlock. You could probably deduce that, but... yeah, I do."

"I like you, too," Sherlock murmured. It felt sacred somehow and a bit juvenile, but it was still applicable.

John's grin caused Sherlock to do the same, and then they were laughing together again, punctuating their happiness with kisses on skin and lips.


End file.
